


Revelations

by corvidae9



Series: Revelations [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-23
Updated: 2006-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-17 15:05:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10596498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvidae9/pseuds/corvidae9
Summary: Harry knows how he survived the last battle... working outwhyand what comes next is a different story entirely. (Harry/Draco, and quite a bit of trio gen.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Serpentine Lion Secrets and Wishes fest. Prompt by :fiona_fawkes  
>  _Oh, I'd love to see a supposedly DE Draco end up saving Harry or striking the killing blow to moldy-voldy in the end of the war but beginning of the story. But nobody knows this but Harry, like with the situation on the Astronomy tower. The fic would explore the Harry/Draco interaction/friendship/relationship post war._
> 
> This was incredibly fun to write, though it did, in fact, eat a large portion of my brain, and has had follow ups planned almost from the beginning. _Huge_ love and thanks and neverending chocolate for the dedicated, hard-working, best beta ever, juice817.  <3 <3 <3

> _** DARK LORD VANQUISHED - WIZARDING WORLD REJOICES **  
>  13 March, 1999 _
> 
> _Hogsmeade_ \- Harry James Potter of Surrey, age 14, known to all as The Boy Who Lived, was badly hurt late Sunday night as a result of his by all accounts epic duel with The Dark Lord, Voldemort. Sources close to the scene report that it is unclear where Mr. Potter learnt the clearly borderline Dark Magic that he employed in order to finally best the Dark Lord, but common consensus has it that Voldemort is gone for good. 
> 
> The Ministry has asked that we remind revelers to remain safely in Wizarding areas and limit their use of daytime Owl Post.
> 
> Mr. Potter is currently in critical, yet stable condition in a private ward at St. Mungo's, and is expected to make a full recovery. 
> 
> \- Read the full transcript of the Ministry press release - page 3  
>  \- Known Death Eaters - where will they go? page 4  
>  \- Editorial on combating Dark Magic in kind, page 8  
>  \- Are you the right witch for the Boy Who Lived Twice?, Life section - page 1

Ron, seated in an ugly chair at the foot of Harry's bed, foot propped on its twin, crumpled the newspaper as best he could with the hand that was not bandaged, mumbling, "You hear that, Harry? At least you're 14 now."

Frowning at the orderly who had just come into the room to do surprisingly little other than check his pulse and lift his eyelids, Hermione squeezed Harry's hand. "Ron, stop. We know it's all rubbish anyway. They're lucky they got any details right at all."

Her hair was pulled up into a loose bun, livid pink burn marks covering the entire right side of her cheek, neck, chest and shoulder, all still in the process of magically knitting. Both were supposed to be in their own beds in adjoining rooms, and neither could be budged from their current bookend positions around Harry's bed. 

Harry, who'd been unconscious since shortly after Voldemort fell, twitched in his sleep. The Healers insisted there was no physical reason that he should still be asleep, and further, that there was no evidence of a magical coma. Apparently, unless he was suffering from something as yet undiagnosed, he was 'just tired and a little beat up'.

With a gentle snore, Harry shifted, releasing Hermione's hand to drag the covers up under his arm, and continued to breathe evenly.

Hermione pursed her lips and watched the orderly shuffle out.

###

In his sleep, Harry wrote his own article.

> _** Family-Killing Bastard Dead For Good. Potter a Lucky Sod. Again. **  
>  13 March, 1999 _
> 
> _Hogsmeade_ \- Harry James Potter of Godric's Hollow, bleeding age 18, lucky to have made it far enough to duel Voldemort himself yet again --after having destroyed all seven Horcruxes, no less-- somehow managed to score a hex that sent Voldemort crashing to the ground. Terrified for his two best friends, Ronald Weasley (19) and Hermione Granger (41) who were approximately thirty feet away at the time, standing back to back against three hacked-off Death Eaters and an angry, slobbering werewolf, he was determined to succeed and help them. Unfortunately, the pain that echoed in his scar sent him reeling into a tree, and even as he tried to raise his wand for the killing blow, his vision swam and he fought what felt like an impending blackout. 
> 
> As the Dark Lord slowly rose from the ground hissing, threatening him in Parseltongue even as he tried staggering to his feet, a sickeningly familiar drawl rang out from behind our boy hero. A hand over his left shoulder slapped him hard on the cheek and then took hold of his collar, as a wand held clenched in a pale and clearly trembling hand appeared off to his right.
> 
> "Potter, god damn it. Finish him. _Petrificus Totalus_."
> 
> The body bind had a partial effect on the Dark Lord, who fell backwards, flailing and still hissing, and Potter somehow found the strength and conviction to raise his wand and cast a Killing Curse, finally dispatching the piece of excrement formerly known as Tom Riddle.
> 
> It was a little anticlimactic, true, but Potter stared at the smoking body for only a moment before glancing over his shoulder-- surely he must have been in shock. There, he caught sight of exactly the last person he'd expected to see on this side of his wand. Willing to attribute it to the second blinding flash and wave of roiling pain from his scar, he murmured nonetheless, "Malfoy?"
> 
> The sullied heir to the Malfoy fortune and last of the Black line sneered as he was wont to do, even as he gripped the back of Potter's sweatshirt to guide his swift descent to the ground. "Amazing, Potter. You finally got something right."
> 
> Landing on his arse on the rough ground with an audible thump not as loud as it could have been, Potter doggedly cleared his throat and rasped, "Ronn'rmione."
> 
> The mysterious and obviously confused blond gazed into the distance at the fight raging not far away, though it now only involved one Death Eater and a half-dead werewolf, regardless of how much blood was dramatically dripping from Weasley's arm. Still he sighed and grumbled something that sounded like "bugger" and fired off a curse that took the Death Eater squarely in the back, throwing his now-unconscious form forward with enough force to propel him through the air onto the redhead, leaving the bushy-haired witch free to dispatch the werewolf.
> 
> Without waiting to see if she was up to the task, Malfoy crouched to peer into Potter's bright green eyes (said to be the very image of his mother's, Lily Potter, tragically killed by the Dark Lord himself - see Prophet archives for full details). "Well. You managed to stay alive. Who fucking knew?"
> 
> A sickening crunch and a loud howl could be heard in the distance and suddenly there were two ragged voices calling for Potter, whose eyes were riveted on Malfoy - not that he had a choice given the encroaching black at the edges of his field of vision. Malfoy's head popped up and he took a step back, fixing Potter with another unreadable look as he Disapparated.
> 
> Not a moment later Weasley and Granger were at his side, but Potter was already unconscious.
> 
> Potter is currently passed the fuck out in an uncomfortable bed, where he has been for the last twenty-four hours, but he can sort of hear his best friends talking and has registered the fact that the last orderly's hands were warm and ungloved, and that his shoes were too loud for that of actual hospital staff.
> 
>  
> 
> \- Saving the World, or a Revenge Killing With Side Perquisites? You decide. Page 2  
>  \- What the Hell Did Malfoy Think he was Doing? Page 4 (not very helpfully torn out)  
>  \- 'I wish I'd Been Able to Kick the Body' and other cautionary tales - Facts about Anger Management. Page 3  
>  \- Where to Go When You Seriously Need a Drink. page 5, footnote  
>  \- What Does Potter do Now? page...

###

At two-thirty-six AM on Wednesday morning, Harry stirred, and murmured, "Malfoy. Where'd he go?"

Hermione was on her feet instantly, as was Ron, who ended up sitting just as quickly, swearing over the shooting pain through the leg that though now healed enough to not require bandaging, was still tender. 

"Harry?"

Harry blinked faster as he came completely around, his surroundings registering as he sat up entirely too quickly. Pressing a hand to his head and scrubbing it down the side of his face, his eyes grew wider as the details of how he came to be where he was began to filter in. 

"He's gone?"

If he squinted, he could see that Ron was now standing again and approaching more carefully, his hand on Hermione's back as she threw her arms around Harry's neck. Hermione breathed, "You did it, Harry. He's gone."

"Even managed to lend us a hand before passing out," added Ron, setting his free hand on Harry's shoulder and squeezing gently. "You did it, mate. Truly."

Harry patted Hermione's side absently, biting the inside of his lip, trying to decide whether he'd imagined Malfoy there, _helping_ him; keeping him from passing out and trying to bind Voldemort _and_ helping Ron and Hermione. He didn't think he had-- Harry could still see clearly in his mind's eye the look on Malfoy's face as he Disapparated; feel the cool slap on his cheek-- but he wasn't ready to say anything yet. 

As far as anyone else was concerned, Malfoy was a wanted fugitive; a known supporter of Voldemort, if not an outright Death Eater. As far as Harry was concerned, Malfoy was inexplicably responsible for saving Harry's life, that of his two closest friends and likely the entirety of the Wizarding World as anyone knew it. 

_Who fucking knew?_

Brow deeply furrowed, Harry swallowed hard. "Right."

###

Friday morning, Harry was pronounced ready to go home, his choices were rather limited as to what it entailed. Grimmauld or the Burrow, and as much as he loved the Weasleys, he found that he wanted very much to return to what was now his own home. His desire to do so only increased tenfold when Molly began fussing over having to rely on an 'unstable, not to mention unsanitary, house elf', given that Kreacher was anywhere to be found.

Grimmauld it was, still warded under lock and Fidelius, though Harry worried what he'd do about new visitors if he ever lost the bit of paper that Professor McGonagall pressed into his palm- one of the last scraps of the written address in Professor Dumbledore's own hand.

Hermione was already at work on theoretically breaking or removing the charm in the absence of the Secret Keeper, though it didn't appear that she was having much luck. Apparently, she hadn't taken Lupin's order to rest to heart as much as he and Ron, currently lounging in jogging pants in the upstairs sitting room doing nothing other than playing a game of chess. It was Harry's opinion that she probably wouldn't have much success, but he gave up trying to convince her to stop, as she claimed to be 'relaxing just fine, thanks'. 

Having known her for nearly half their lives, the thought occurred to him that she was probably telling the absolute truth.

###

A week into their holiday, even Ron was tired of chess. 

Predictably, it was Hermione that said something first, though in the oversized sweatshirt and faded jeans that were crisp and clean and not at all stained with blood and/or dirt, her hair pulled neatly back into one smooth, thick braid, she was barely recognizable. "This is ridiculous. We need to get back out there and do something."

Looking up from busily picking at the lint on the armrest of his chair, Ron shrugged, "And do what?"

Brow furrowed, Hermione shook her head. "I don't know. _Some_ thing. Find jobs?"

Ron groaned and slumped in his chair. "That's a terrible idea. And what would we do, anyway? We didn't even finish school properly. Nothing to do with OWLs except--"

Hermione's eyes lit up as she popped to her feet. "That's it! We could go back to school! I'd wager McGonagall would let us come back, and we-- Ron! We could study for our NEWTs and you and Harry could be Aurors and I-"

"Don't want to be an Auror anymore, Hermione. I've done enough Dark wizard catching, thanks." Harry's voice was calm and even, and both Ron and Hermione whipped around to look at him; he'd been so silent, they'd almost forgotten he was in the room.

Insistent, Hermione took a step toward him. "You could still work for the DMLE, or somewhere else in the Ministry... Or--"

"No." Harry's tone brooked no further argument. "I'm done. You two can if you want, but I'm... not going back."

"But, Harry--"

Hermione's protest was cut off at a signature two-part knock, and Ron bolted from his seat. "I'll get it." Harry met Hermione's most dissecting glance as he stood with a cool examination of his own for a long moment until the sound that had burst through the front door increased in volume and intensity and the corridor finally spilled three redheads into the room - Ron suspended by the arms between Fred and George. 

The twins began speaking in their preferred manner of communication - both holding up one side of any given conversation. 

"Found this prat near the door."

"Don't suppose you lost him?"

"Be a shame to lose your pet Weasley _now_ , wouldn't you say?"

"Indubitably. Hermione, darling. Simply gorgeous. Come out with me."

"No, Me."

"Fine. Us." 

"There you have it. Two Weasleys, no waiting."

Hermione blushed furiously as the twins tossed Ron into the armchair and took turns hugging her, unconsciously brushing nonexistent wisps of hair behind her ear as they moved away. "Stop. You're terrible, both of you."

By then, Fred (or possibly George) was advancing on Harry, shaking his hand enthusiastically with a one armed hug and passing him directly to his twin for another. "Harry, old man, good to see you breathing." 

"And with all your limbs. You must be very proud."

Speaking simultaneously, the twins smirked, " _We_ are."

Harry couldn't help but crack a grin as he looked away. "Yeah. Sort of like it, myself."

George clapped him on the shoulder as Fred rubbed his hands together and spoke next. "In fact, we're throwing a 'Glad You're Not Dead and Thanks for Saving Our Collective Arse' party on behalf of you an' baby brother and the lovely lass, mate." 

Not giving Harry a chance to protest, George shook him once, slightly. "No excuses, mate. The three of you are coming and that's final."

###

Harry slipped from the party, slumping against the wall of the twin's shop with a protracted sigh of relief. It had been wonderful to see everyone for all of about five minutes, until he realized that there were three sorts of people at this party: the ones that wanted the story, the ones that wanted the story after an astounding array of kinky sexual propositions (some of which Harry had to admit he'd never even imagined), and the ones that already knew the story and were therefore otherwise engaged telling it to other people and nowhere near him.

It was sickening. It still would have been sickening if he could at least tell the real story as to what had happened, but as things stood...

Actually- four sorts of people. There was also a group avoiding Harry like the plague, consisting entirely of Ginny Weasley, discussing loudly the Tornadoes scout who had come to see her play, and her new boyfriend, Neville Longbottom (who was a hundred times better than that overrated hack, Potter) and how her brothers had gotten her a weekend pass from school to come to this entirely lame party to anyone who would listen.

Fortunately, the alley was relatively well-kept, because Harry wasn't paying a bit of attention to the state of the pavement as he slid down the wall to sit against it, forearms on his knees, head in his hands, wondering if it was time to think about leaving town - maybe even the country. To go somewhere pe--

[A hand fisted in his hair](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v148/corvidae9/20060425hdillus02.jpg), pulled his head up and a wand was at his temple before he'd had the chance to say or do anything other than stare stupidly. "Potter, you idiot."

Harry recognized the voice immediately, though its owner's face was still shrouded in a dark cloak. Swallowing hard, Harry stared up into the dark recesses of the hood defiantly. "Changed your mind about saving my arse, then, Malfoy?"

The hand in his hair released him with a shove as Draco lit his wand, the very dim glow illuminating only the barest hint of his features, but disgust was clear in his voice. "Have you any idea how many Death Eaters are left out there, wondering when they'll get a crack at the sodding Boy Who Lived? Should be thanking me-- that's two you owe me, not counting the Weasel and the Mu-- Granger."

Scrambling to his feet, Harry's wand was in hand in an instant. "No, I don't know how many. Maybe you can shed some light on that." 

"Don't be obtuse. You of all people should know well I've nothing to do with those bastards." Cocking an eyebrow at Harry, Draco suddenly looked almost worried. "You _do_ remember, don't you? Good God, it'd be a fucking mess to have you kill me now."

Harry wrinkled his brow. "Obtuse?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "I mean, stop being an idiot, if at all possible. If I wanted to parade about as a Death Eater, your body would be rotting at the top of a battlement, metaphorical or not, as would those of your friends, and I'd be kneeling at the foot of a psychotic and frankly malodorous wizard without a proper nose."

Bristling, Harry glared. "I _know_ what _obtuse_ means. So what? You're skulking about here and threatening me to be friendly?"

"God, no. Get a hold of yourself."

"What then?"

"Walking. Only time for it, really... and even then... well." Draco gestured to the hood of his cloak, "...let's say I have to be careful, since no one properly appreciates my pretty face these days."

Harry continued to eye him suspiciously. "And you miraculously ended up behind Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes?"

"The infernal racket was not something that could be missed. I must have... gravitated toward it. Or something." Suddenly scowling, Draco took a step back. "Get inside or don't, as suits you. Whatever." 

Watching as Draco raised his wand, presumably to Apparate, Harry started foward. "Malfoy!"

Draco lowered his wand again, obviously confused and annoyed, and a little bit of something else that seemed so familiar to Harry and yet he couldn't quite place it. "What?!"

Harry hesitated a moment before blurting, "I'm sorry."

Expression clouding further, Draco opened and closed his mouth and ended up producing a rather ineloquent, "Huh?" sound.

"I should have-- I mean. I should have told them what happened. I just, didn't get a chance after I woke u--" 

Draco cut him off. "Potter, I don't care how much sodding weight your sainthood carries, I'm not willing to trust my freedom such as it is to the same idiots who put cousin Sirius in Azkaban for thirteen years because they were too stupid to take measures to investigate properly. Your word _and_ Dumbledore's didn't carry any weight until after _he_ was dead. So no. If you're feeling grateful, don't say a bloody thing. At least they don't know I'm anywhere in the area." He looked away with a bitter smirk. "I have what associates I may still claim shift money from several not-so-hidden accounts halfway around the world now and then. That should keep them busy for a while."

Harry set his jaw, not knowing what to say. As Draco raised his wand again, Harry took a sudden step forward, hand in his pocket. "Wait."

Taking an instinctive step back, Draco's wand was trained on Harry again for a moment. "Oh, for godsake, what now?"

"Here." Eyes darting toward Draco's wand even as he lowered it, Harry held out the crumpled scrap of parchment he kept in a pocket at all times, knowing full well that this was an incredibly bad idea. Not that _that_ sort of revelation had ever kept him from doing something before, but he _did_ know. "In case you change your mind. I-- um. Need that back, so memorize it."

Draco snatched the parchment from his hand and peered at it. "Twelve Grimmauld Place." He shoved it back at Harry. "Very impressive. No fucking clue what that means." 

"That's where I live," said Harry. "If you change your mind, you should... I don't know. Let me know and I'll do what I can."

With a snort of amusement, Draco deadpanned, "You have to carry your address in your pocket? Good god. You _are_ retarded."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "It's under a Fidelius Charm, git. I couldn't have told you if I tried."

Draco stopped mid-motion and peered at Harry. "Your house is under a Fidelius Charm, and you just told _me_ where to find it?"

Staring off into some nebulous direction just over Draco's left shoulder, Harry shrugged. "Stranger things have happened."

After a beat, Draco shrugged. "Yeah. They have." Without another word, he Disapparated.

###

Another week passed before Hermione triumphantly brandished an owl from McGonagall saying that it would be highly irregular to allow her back to school, but she would consider allowing her to sit NEWTs with the current seventh years, should the Board allow it. She also mentioned that given the situation, she felt that there would be no problem with doing so, and extended the offer to both Harry and Ron should they be so inclined. 

Ron had groaned and slumped in his seat across from Harry yet again, hand in his hair. "Buggerhell. Guess we'll be revising for the next... two and a half months."

"Oh God! We only have two and a half months!" Hermione exclaimed, popping to her feet and rushing to the stairs, instructions trailing behind her as she took the steps at a run. "I've got to make a list and catalog any Potions stores I've got; come to think of it, parchment and quills too, though I suppose if we're not turning in work, pencils and paper would work just as well. First thing tomorrow, we've got to get to Diagon Alley for books and-- oh. So much to do. Move! Come on!"

Not having heard from Malfoy at all, Harry briefly wondered whether Malfoy would want to sit NEWTs if he could, and another pang of guilt shot him through. He had meant to tell Ron and Hermione the entire story, but... hadn't. Mainly because he oscillated wildly between feeling guilty and ashamed, and though he did want to tell them, his procrastinating only made the situation worse. He honestly found himself wishing that the ferrety git would just show up on his doorstep and force him to tell the world what had really happened.

But it hadn't happened yet. And probably never would.

Fighting a knot of dread deep in the pit of his stomach, Harry stood. "'M not going."

Hermione's rushed footsteps stopped immediately, and she padded heavily back down the steps far enough to be able to see him. "Harry, are you mad? You can't go out into the world and do anything worthwhile without NEWTs, and as much money as your parents left you, it won't last forever. It's only two and a half months of revision and then we'll be free again. Ok? Alright. Let's go."

"I'm NOT doing this, Hermione. Good luck."

Hermione set her fists on her hips and stared him down, though there was no way she could fail to read the stubborn expression of self-loathing with which she was so familiar. "Harry. Honestly. You can do it. The three of us will hide out and revise and we'll help each other - won't we, Ron?"

Ron's jaw set as he examined the look on Harry's face, and finally also stood, quietly clapping Harry's shoulder with a nod as he walked by, "Let's go, Hermione. I don't have a bloody clue what's in my trunk right now."

"Ron, no. We can't do this without Harry, it's just... not right! He needs this as much as we do! And--"

Harry left the room and them to their argument over him and his future, stalking toward the broom closet. Hermione's voice grew more faint, though her calling for Harry to come right back was still easily distinct from Ron's low rumble. Surely punishing himself as much as anything else, he had decided that he wanted nothing to do with revising for NEWTs. 

Instead he threw open the back door, Disillusioned himself and took off before it had the chance to bounce shut behind him, soaring high into the air at near-breakneck speed and trying unsuccessfully to leave it all behind. Rather, he was successful, but only temporarily-- while he was up, it all _did_ go away, but it always came rushing back the moment his feet touched the ground.

He flew and flew until the thought occurred to him that Ron and Hermione should be tired of arguing and were either fuming in their respective bedrooms or conspiring in low tones over tea. Swooping low and making to circle down and into the back garden, he spied a figure in a dark cloak hurrying away from the door and the ever-present knot in his stomach tightened.

Dropping the Disillusionment charm, Harry hopped from his broom alongside and no more than two feet away from the figure, who spun on his heel, wand in hand. His hood fell back partially from his face and Harry immediately recognized him, entirely unsurprised. "Malfoy."

Draco's eyes were still wide, already mouthing the incantation he needed to Disapparate. Without another thought, Harry's hand shot out and caught hold of his arm just in time to feel the sick pull-press of Apparating side-along. Given that he was half off-balance as he'd made the grab, the fact that he fell over should not necessarily have been a surprise, but it was and Harry found himself on his arse still clutching his Firebolt and looking down (or rather _up_ ) the barrel of a wand, so to speak.

"Potter, what the hell?"

Harry slapped the wand out of his face and popped to his feet, trying to appear nonchalant as he took in his surroundings, though keeping Malfoy in his peripheral vision at all times. He was in what appeared to be a relatively small sitting room, sparsely furnished in a vaguely commercial manner, very little in the way of personal effects evident anywhere about. "Nice place. Yours?"

Draco threw the ever-present hood the rest of the way back, the look on his face pure murder. "WHY? Why are you here?"

"You came to see me."

"No, I did not, as evidenced by the fact that you bloody well accosted _me_ in the street."

"I didn't _accost_ you. God. Calm down. You came to my house."

Setting his jaw, Draco crossed his arms and regarded Harry through dangerously narrowed eyes. "Maybe I did. But I don't recall being _at_ your bloody house and now you are decidedly, _inexplicably_ standing _in mine_. I do believe the question stands, What the hell?"

Harry looked up from his examination of a book left lying on the side table under the lamp, thin, burnished brass bookmark poking out from somewhere in the middle of its obviously worn pages. His fingers trailed along the gilt lettering of _Le Morte D'Arthur_ , thinking he should know more about it than the title. It was probably one of those classics that _everyone_ should know, that Hermione could probably quote, and that the closest Harry had ever been to reading would have been to catch a spoof of it out of the corner of his eye on one of Dudley's programmes on the telly. "You're not tired of hiding yet?"

Draco snatched the book out from under his hand, holding it close under one arm, as if it had been saved from a great harm. "I don't see what business it would be of yours either way."

Wearing an expression of disbelief, Harry turned on him. "Yeah see, unfortunately, you made it my bloody business. I owe you a life debt and as really fucking cracked as that is to admit, it's true. So. You asked me to not say a damn thing, and I haven't. But it doesn't seem right."

"Worry less about things that _seem right_ , Potter, and just go on with your pathetic excuse for a life. And definitely stop worrying about my state of mind," Draco scowled. "It's... disturbing. In fact, just-- forget I exist." Brightening a little, Draco added, "There's an idea. I'll Obliviate you and you can be found wandering Diagon Alley. They'll probably have some sort of vigil for you at St. Mungo's and invent some story about how you've been assaulted and miraculously survived yet again because of you beatified--"

"Oh for godsake, _shut up_ ," Harry grimaced. "You're not Obliviating me."

"Come on, listen--"

"Shut up."

"Would you just go away, then?"

Harry set his jaw and crossed his arms, and though he really wanted nothing more than to leave, he knew he had to do what he could to fix this. "The fact remains _you_ came to see _me_ and there's only one reason that I can think of for it. You're tired of _hiding your pretty face_. And I'm the only one who can help." 

Draco arched an eyebrow at the 'pretty face' bit; it'd been an echo of his own words and delivered with obvious sarcasm, but it seemed to have caught his attention nonetheless. "Potter. I didn't save your skin because of some noble, selfless, altruistic... whatever motive. I did it for myself." Running the hand that he'd been gesturing with through his hair, he went on. "You were the only one that could kill him, and I very much wanted him dead. Thus? Selfish motives. So don't go all... stupid Gryffindor about this 'life debt' business. Just-- forget it. I don't know what I was thinking going to your house. Must have had a moment of wea- insanity."

Peering at the Slytherin before him, Harry made a surprising connection. "You're _lonely_."

" _You're_ high." 

The answer was as caustic as ever, but Harry could tell he'd hit a nerve. Of course, it didn't stop him from answering cheekily, "I wish." 

That earned a quirked eyebrow at least, as Draco sneered, "Spare me, _Saint_ Potter. You wouldn't know what to do with an illicit substance if it appeared in your hand with explicit instructions on its care and feeding. Maybe if Granger were there to tell you what to do..."

Harry shook his head. "You don't know the first thing about me, Malfoy."

Draco took a step forward, chin lifted. "Then I'll thank you not to assume you know a damn thing about me. Would you _please_ go away now?"

"Malfoy. I can't just _leave_. The truth is important, and you shouldn't have to live like this if you didn't _do_ anything to deserve it and --"

Voice wavering with anger and frustration, Draco turned his wand on Harry again. "Potter. For godsake, GO AWAY. If I have to Banish you, I will, and I cannot be arsed to care where you end up. Do you understand me? I have no further use for you. You did your job and kept me from having to do mine. We're EVEN. Go... turn your pity to someone else; Weasleys, or house elves or _something_ , but just-- stop trying to save me and _Leave. Me. Alone._ I'm as saved as I'm going to get."

Quiet a long moment, Harry nodded once, tucked his broom under his arm and drew his own wand, intending to Apparate to the back garden of Grimmauld Place. Fixing Draco with another appraising stare, Harry added, "Must suck that _I'm_ the only person that even knows you're alive and won't turn you in." 

With that, he Disapparated and entirely missed Draco's flinging his wand against the opposing wall and landing three hard kicks on the obviously substandard easy chair, before flopping into it with a loud, undignified swear. 

###

Harry slid sideways in through the back door of the house, scrubbing a hand through his hair. The relative silence assured him that the argument was indeed over, and the fact that Ron and Hermione were currently sitting in adjacent chairs at the kitchen table murmuring quietly indicated the best of all possible outcomes. For the moment, at least. 

Clearing his throat, he propped his broom up in a corner of the room and dragged the chair opposite them away from the table to sit in it backwards-- a habit he'd nicked from Sirius. 

"We need to talk."

And Harry did. 

Ron and Hermione were still staring dumbfounded ten minutes later, and Harry furrowed his brow at them, waiting for it. "Well?"

Holding up a finger, Ron spoke as if working out a series of complex moves across a half-set chessboard. "So, you're saying that the Ferret popped in out of nowhere, saved your arse, saved _our_ arses, and then buggered off, _then_ showed up out of nowhere and asked you not to say anything, and so you didn't. Am I right?"

Harry nodded slowly, looking up. "'Bout right."

"Uh huh. Brain damage," Ron muttered before turning to Hermione. "I thought they'd checked his head for brain damage? Or! Maybe Malfoy's hexed him to say--"

Hermione shushed him, her eyes on Harry. "Why hadn't you said anything before now?"

Ron nodded and pointed. "'S right, because it's not true, see?! It's some sort of anti-Veritaserum. Tell us where he is, Harry, we'll take care of it..."

Ignoring him, Hermione's gaze bored into Harry, forcing him to drop his eyes. "Harry."

"Because I didn't know how. And then when he asked me not to, I thought I owed it to him to do what he asked." Harry shrugged. "It seemed... fair."

"Since when has Malfoy cared about fair?" said Ron. "Since when have _we_ when it came to Malfoy for that matter?"

"Ron!" Hermione shouted, scandalized, not at all helped by Ron's indifferent shrug.

"What? It's true!"

Harry raised his voice slightly to get their attention. "Enough. It happened, and now you know what's happening now, so if you see him around... just. Don't hex him or something."

Hermione's eyebrow shot up. "Should we _plan_ on _seeing him around_?"

"No!" Harry scoffed. "God. It isn't as if we're _friends_. Gah, Hermione. Just - no."

Ron stared at him as if he might grow another head for a moment longer before standing and shaking his head, mumbling, "This is just fucked up, is what. I need... a drink." Hermione called for him to come back, but he met her summons with a hand held up as he slammed through the kitchen door.

Sighing, Harry turned his full attention back to Hermione, who was obviously in deep thought. "What? You need a drink too?"

Hermione shook her head thoughfully. "No, Harry." Squeezing his hand, she continued, "I'm just thinking that whether he likes it or not, you may have to tell the world the truth sooner rather than later."

Harry cocked his head. "How's that?"

Lifting her eyes to meet Harry's, her mouth was pressed into a line - the expression was familiar to Harry, as was the glint in her eye that said she was fully in cold tactician mode. "Because as it stands, you are, in fact, the only person -well, Ron and I, _now_ too, but he doesn't know that- who knows that Draco Malfoy is alive, much less where, and you already feel as if you owe him something. Malfoy is not the sort that does well in isolation-- he needs people to feed his ego, and unless I'm mistaken, he will very much be back here looking for you." Her lip quirked. "I don't think you're the minion type and I don't know that you want or need to be his... I don't know. Friend? Is that possible? I doubt it. If you don't make public what happened and clear his name... it just won't end well, I'm sure of it." With a small, confused smile, obviously trying for a little levity, she added, "And I've seen enough bloodshed in my lifetime."

Harry scoffed yet again though her words rang too close to his own assessment of Malfoy as 'lonely'. He, however, was willing to wager that Malfoy's hate of all things Potter would keep him away. "You're right. I'm not the minion type and I absolutely do not want to be his friend. So don't worry about it. Besides, I honestly don't expect to see him around here anytime soon."

He hoped. Or perhaps he didn't. Either way, he didn't want to examine it too closely. 

###

Round about another week passed --eight days to be exact-- and it was April 1, otherwise known as the anniversary of the birth of the Weasley Twins and the death of Molly and Arthur's hopes to ever sleep soundly again. 

Obviously, it was also occasion for another huge blowout party at the shop, followed only then by a more sedate family dinner the following day once everyone had had a chance to recover. As apologetic as the twins ever got for the less-than-stellar time Harry had at his own celebration, they'd decided on a costume party. Normally, it might be referred to as a 'fancy dress ball', but it was hard to take anything that took place in a joke shop that seriously.

Harry had tried to beg off and found himself badgered by arguments that in costume, no one would recognize him, and he'd be free to make an arse of himself fairly, just like everyone else. (To be fair, the threat of being forced to attend by way of Mobilicorpus and a Semi-Permanent Sticking Charm went a long way in doing so as well.)

As he adjusted the ridiculous charmed lion mask (courtesy of Luna), a knock on his door startled him and set it to roaring. Murmuring, "Finite Incantatem" and carefully slipping the mask off, he called out, "Yeah, yeah, give me a minute."

"Potter?"

Eyes wide, Harry nearly tripped over the hem of the the ridiculous tawny robes he was wearing, too surprised to even smooth them down as he straightened his back and opened the door. "Malfoy."

Draco strode into his room without invitation, making a show of surveying his surroundings without looking at Harry, "Granger let me in. I know, I was just as pleasantly surprised that she didn't try and kill me, so I suppose I should thank you-- figures that a Gryffindor couldn't keep his mouth shut. Since you didn't have the sense to tell me that other people might answer the door at your own house when you invited me, however..." Draco finished his inspection of the scattered items on the side table and looked up. "...We'll just have to call it even. And what the devil are you wearing?" 

Harry blinked at Draco, stomach turning over at the certainty that this was the moment he would be asked to come forward and finally tell the truth. Granted, there was also some relief at the prospect of evading the party, though it paled in comparison. "Why are you here?"

Brow furrowed, Draco continued to study Harry's clothes, answering distractedly. "Really, that's a terrible color. And the quality... it's a costume, isn't it? Not even you could possibly--"

"Why, Malfoy?" Harry growled, cutting him off testily.

Draco rolled his eyes, though the look on his face was clearly somewhat conflicted. "I-- it's a costume, right?"

Harry threw his hands up, the absolute improbability of this conversation ringing loudly in his ears. "Yes! Christ! It's for the birthday party for Fred and George that I'd rather acquire a stomach flu than attend, but if I don't, I likely will do just that. And still be dragged and stuck to a wall in a main thoroughfare." 

Shaking his head, Draco muttered, "Oh for godsake. Savior of the world and you can't even decide for yourself whether to attend what is bound to be a terrible party."

His original question begged without his even needing to repeat it, and as such all Harry had to say was, "Fuck you."

"Not likely, no. But I've learned not to say 'never'," Draco smirked. "It's been that sort of a year."

"Pssh. You wish," Harry scoffed.

Draco made a show of looking him up and down, obviously amused. "Hmm... No. Not quite my type. Anatomy's correct, but the tragic choice of house and clothes and... hair? Is that what you call it? I'm afraid it would never work for me."

Harry cocked his chin, but he couldn't help a faint flush under the scrutiny. "Lovely. And you're a pointy ferret, so no worries here. Now that's clear, do you mind telling me why the hell you're here?" 

Nose twitching slightly at the 'ferret' comment, Draco finally answered. "I have-- _had_ a favor to ask, but since I see you're busy..." 

There was a near imperceptible crack in the unbearably smug facade that Harry might have missed if he had blinked at exactly the wrong moment, and he chose to poke at it more out of curiosity than anything. "What? No available _associates_?"

"There aren't any that I trust--" Draco suddenly coughed and backpedalled both figuratively and literally. "--That are available, that is." He took another step back toward the door. "But like I said, since you're busy..."

Harry narrowed his eyes; his first instinct was to offer the help anyway, but Hermione's words were echoing loudly in his head and effectively squashed that faint impulse. "I'm not your minion, Malfoy."

Draco's voice was hard, but there was a different, serious edge to it that took Harry by surprise (again). "You'd make a terrible minion, anyway. Enjoy the party."

With that, Draco was gone and Harry was left staring through the empty doorway wondering yet again what the hell had just happened. 

###

Predictably, Harry found himself easily recognizable, costume or not, and therefore also attempting to be unobtrusive near the dark side of the stairwell as the party raged on around him. 

An equally hapless animal made its way over -a jaguar? Panther? Whatever. The person behind it had been circling the party for a bit now, but apparently had not found anyone to talk to, and was now walking directly toward Harry. Correction - the figure was _strolling_ , possibly even _strutting_ and Harry sighed, trying to squeeze impossibly further into the shadow.

As the partygoer approached, Harry heard a whispered Imperturbable charm before a far louder, "Hiding from your adoring fans, Potter?"

Harry furrowed his brow violently, hissing low despite the Imperturbable. "Malfoy?! The hell are you doing here?"

The jaguar mask smiled as its wearer did, a toothy papier mache grimace more threatening than friendly. "Attending my first party in absolute ages. It's terrible, just as I predicted, and crawling with Weasleys, Gryffindors and Auror trainees to boot." He lifted his glass cheefully. "But there's alcohol, and I calculate that I am safe in having just enough to make it less terrible and not enough to actually make it enjoyable."

Scanning the area quickly, Harry took hold of Malfoy's elbow and dragged him around the bannister and up the stairs in spite of Malfoy's exasperated noises of protest. "So when Fred and George pull their reveal at Midnight, you and your pretty face are prepared to be standing in a room full of _Weasleys, Gryffindors and Aurors_?"

Harry couldn't see his face, but he could hear the heavy pause in Malfoy's voice as he stepped out onto the top landing and opened the door to the roof. The pause lasted only long enough for Draco to yank his elbow back, though when he did finally speak his voice lacked the proper snark to pull the attitude off convincingly. "That's the second time you called me 'pretty', Potter. I'm beginning to worry."

Narrowing his eyes, Harry removed his mask and spoke as the door to the roof swung shut, muffling the music and noise, making him sound infintitely louder than he had intended. "Now who's the idiot? I swear! And I didn't call you 'pretty'. I was throwing your egomaniacal words back at you." Grumbling, he added, "'M not drunk enough to think you're pretty."

"Well, hell. What sort of morons throw a costume party and don't expect fugitives to show for the free alcohol?" Disgruntled and possibly even shaken, Draco pulled his wand and ran it over his costume, Banishing it and revealing the simple yet obviously expensive slacks and shirt underneath. He ran a hand through his fine, straight blond hair hanging to almost his eyebrows, muttering, " _Reveal_ , my arse." 

A thought struck Harry as he watched Draco shove his hair back, and Harry squashed it far, far back down, and it absolutely had nothing to do with the fact that he might possibly, in some other alternate reality, perhaps and if given the choice between Malfoy and say, a warty pig, he might possibly say that Malfoy was the more attractive of the two. Possibly. 

Regaining some cheek, though displaying a little bit of sluggishness on the sibilant 's', Draco smirked, "Potter. You're staring." 

"Am not." Hell. Harry quickly looked away, angry that in his mind, 'possibly' had become 'probably'.

"Were. And as much as I appreciate your concern for my continued safety, I suppose I should be on my way."

Frowning, Harry reluctantly eyed him sideways, "You sure you're not too pissed to Apparate without splinching yourself?"

Draco fixed him with an odd look. "You sure you care either way?"

"I _owe_ you, Malfoy." Harry swallowed hard. "There's a difference."

"Don't worry, Potter. Your secret's safe with me." Expression evening out into a dangerous smirk, Draco suddenly lunged forward, grabbed the side of Harry's head and landed a loud, obviously sarcastic kiss on the opposite temple, immediately pulling away and taking three large steps backward. "Lucky I'm drunk enough for both of us, then."

Harry scrubbed at the side of his head, aghast. "Gah, wh-"

Draco cocked his eyebrow at Harry. "Besides-- who would I tell?" With that, he pulled his wand and Disapparated, and this time Harry was the one left kicking the unsuspecting patio furniture, the weight of Malfoy's hand on his face taunting him with residual heat longer than it had any right to do.

###

Slumped at the kitchen table just after noon on Sunday, face buried in his arms, Ron groaned as Hermione bumped his elbow with a cup of coffee. "G'Way." Another groan. "Oh fuck, that's loud. Coffee, I love you. You too, Hermione. Maybe Harry a little bit, too."

"There's no need for swearing, Ron. It's your own fault you feel like death warmed over. Honestly, you'd think you'd know better than to engage Charlie in a shot-for-shot contest. I mean, he outweighs you by at least three stone and it's all muscle, and he's spent the last ten years handling dragons. Of course he was going to win." Snapping her attention back to Ron, she forced her head to untilt and her eyes to unglaze. "So yes. Your fault. Man up."

Harry sat at the head of the table watching with some amusement over his paper. As she patted Ron's shoulder and bustled away to attend to her own late lunch, Harry could only be glad that Ron was in no shape to catch the look that previously he'd only seen her sport while discussing Lockhart, Krum or her books. And to be fair, Remus once- when he'd waxed ecstatic about one of her favorite books. 

Lifting his head to sip from the mug, Ron winced, his eyes half-shut as he mumbled indistinctly, "'dyou have fun this time, Harry?"

Immediately on edge, Harry played it off with a flip answer. "Not as much as you did, mate."

Hermione sat with two bowls of leftover stew and toast, sliding one to a pleasantly surprised Harry as she spoke. "Saw you disappear for a bit with the jaguar." Her eyes flicked to his for a split second, looking away when his spoon clattered noisily as Harry fumbled its pick up. "Anyone we know?"

Ron laughed, immediately pressing a hand to his head. "I'm telling you, mate. You could seriously cash in on this Savior of the World bollocks. Girls are dying to--" 

Despite himself, Harry shook his head in amusement as Ron trailed off at an icy look from Hermione. "No, Ron. And no, Hermione. I was just... looking out for someone who had too much to drink." He snorted. "Faaar too much. No big deal."

"Oh bugger that. No one was looking out for me!" Ron complained.

Clearly unconvinced by Harry's explanation, Hermione nonetheless swallowed her mouthful, half pointing at Ron with her spoon. "Harry and I Apparated you home and put you to bed, daft boy." 

"Oh. Thanks."

"Couldn't very well leave you drunk and sprawled across the counter of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, could we? Besides, we've missed a load of revising on the schedule this morning, but I thought maybe we could squeeze in some Transfiguration--" Hermione blinked, then sighed at Harry. "Not that the three of us couldn't do something else. But... oh, Harry. I wish you'd reconsider. You're not that much further behind than we are and then we could all--"

"No, Hermione." Harry pushed his chair back from the table, scooping a huge spoonful into his mouth. Taking his bowl and setting it on the counter, he chewed and swallowed hard. "I told you. I'm done." Gesturing with his last slice of toast, Harry added, "And before you even say it, I'm not _upset_. I've got... things to do today." He set his toast on a napkin and finished the stew standing, still chewing as he washed the bowl and set it on the rack, trying to ignore the weighted silence that had followed his pronouncement. 

As he passed her chair, he automatically bent and dropped a kiss to the top of Hermione's head, wincing internally as the previous night's events on the roof replayed themselves in his mind. "Err... Good luck. Ron..." Harry cracked a grin. "Just-- don't bollocks anything up badly enough to make her shout at you until the headache potion's kicked in and you'll survive." 

Ron dropped his head on the crook of his arm again, releasing his death grip on the coffee mug to flash a rude gesture as Harry walked out. He had in fact, nowhere to be and no 'things' to do, but the last thing he wanted was to be cooped at Grimmauld with Ron and Hermione studying whatever it was today. He set his forehead to the coat closet door and banged his fist three times against the ancient frame with a frustrated growl.

"A-hem," Hermione cleared her throat, "You forgot your toast."

Opening one eye, Harry turned to look at her without taking his forehead from the door, definitely caught out and trying to preserve what dignity he had left. He took the toast in its napkin with a murmured 'thanks' and waited for it.

Hermione's brow furrowed, studying him as she spoke. "It's about Malfoy, isn't it? The whole... _pig-headed_ insistence on not taking your NEWTs- somehow it's about what happened with Voldemort." She took a breath and he could almost see the pieces fall together visibly in the depths of her keen eyes, slowly gone wider again. "...And that was him at the party last night, wasn't it? Harry, _what_ is going on?"

Harry straightened and pulled away from the closet door, inexplicably on the defensive. "Nothing, Hermione. Yes, that was him. The idiot decided to crash the party, and seeing as how I _owe him a bloody life debt_ , I had to make sure that he went home before the masks were spelled away. And why I don't want to take the NEWTs is not anyone's business but mine, so just _leave it_. Please."

Years of practice allowed Hermione to withstand the tirade with barely a flinch, crossing her arms instead. "Yeah? And what was he doing here yesterday, then?"

Taking a defiant bite of his toast, Harry chewed, swallowed and murmured thickly, "You were right. He wanted a minion. I told him to sod off. Happy?"

"Harry, I just don't--"

"Come off of it Hermione. It isn't as if he's going to _date_ Malfoy or something," Ron scoffed from his spot in the doorway, so highly amused at his ridiculous suggestion, he had to try twice to not laugh in order to continue. " _I_ say we Obliviate _Malfoy_ and dump him with monks in Mongolia or Tibet or somewhere. That way, he's safe from Aurors _and_ Harry, so we'll have done our bit, _and_ he'll be out of our hair." 

Hermione and Harry both stared at him without a word and Ron threw his hands up. "It was a joke! Mostly. Well, the 'dating' part, definitely, because that'd just be wrong and sort of sick, _not_ 'cos he's a bloke, you know, whatever makes you happy, an' all, Harry, but you know. _Malfoy_. And really, you have to agree that the Obliviating idea has a lot of merit."

Hand pressed to his forehead, Harry brandished his toast. "I'm going now before Ron gives me an aneurysm." 

Clearly unconvinced, Hermione pursed her lips. "Fine. You know we're all going to The Burrow tonight?"

Wolfing the toast as he pulled open the door, Harry waved in a way that he hoped would seem nonchalant. "Yeah! 'Course. Be back long before, probably. Bye."

Hermione was still watching on the door after it shut behind him, jumping slightly as Ron's hand squeezed her elbow. "Come on, brain. I figured out how to make that shoe into a Venomous Tentacula night before last. Damn near took my arm off, it did."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione allowed herself to be pulled away, though her thoughts didn't stray from Harry for long. Neither did Ron's, but it was his job to do the distracting, and as such, he did.

###

Once out of the house, however, Harry had no idea where to go. Sunday afternoon meant almost all the shops and museums were closed, and he had no desire to go to a library. He wandered the city for at least an hour, turning the last month or so over in his mind, still a little somewhat in shock over the fact that Voldemort was gone for good and his job was now to figure out what to do with the rest of his life. And deal with Malfoy, of course. For some ridiculous reason, he couldn't seem to forget that part.

Stopping near a Muggle park, he watched a group of young men (and one woman) playing football for a few minutes, his nostalgic longing for Quidditch suddenly overwhelming. It was then that Harry had an idea he decided to act on before it inevitably seemed more bad than brilliant. He slipped behind a tree and Apparated to the back garden of Twelve Grimmauld Place, rushing in and shouting as he rummaged through the closet, "Just me! Forgot my broom!" 

Broom and one other necessity in hand, he rushed out again and focused on the small flat, the door, the feel-- and with a _Crack_ , Harry found himself standing just inside the door of Draco's flat though he'd been aiming for 'just outside' - he'd have to work on that. "Hello? Malfoy? Sorry about the..."

Draco emerged from the hallway, half-dressed, wand in hand and on edge, allowing his expression to melt into a scowl as he spotted Harry. Throwing his hands up, he muttered, "Oh, you can _not_ be serious."

"...Apparating inside, my mistake. Hey--" Harry cocked his head at Draco, holding a small, golden sphere up between his fingers as its delicate silver wings unfolded with a shivery 'snikt'. "Fancy a fly?"

###

 

They'd spent the better part of an hour flying Disillusioned and in relative silence directly to the open space over the hill near the Burrow, since it was the only place Harry could think of that was relatively out of sight. Draco had pulled a cap down low over his hair, wearing dark colors under the cloak that he'd have to discard if he wanted to Seek effectively.

Properly warmed up and after circling the area for a feel of the available space (and carefully noting where the last set of nearby private wards began and ended), Harry released the Snitch and they were off. They chased it through the trees, over hills and through clearings for what seemed like forever, slamming into each other more often than not when they both happened to get too close. At some point in time, the bright flash made itself seen through the trees and toward a clearing, and both tore a straight path for it, the verbal taunts coming to a stop as they each focused on making it to the clearing first.

The Snitch was finally, agonizingly close. Harry stretched his hand toward it and could feel its wings brushing his fingers, his forearm smashed up against Draco's as they bumped one another violently. His heart raced and he leaned just a little further; a little more... just enough to discover the laces of his right trainer had somehow caught in the twigs of Draco's broom, throwing him just off-balance enough for Draco to edge forward and close his hand around the struggling Snitch, the look on his face comprised entirely of shock warring with self-satisfaction. 

Draco veered away with a whoop that lasted only until he came to an abrupt stop and suddenly circled under Harry in a cartoon-like move, owing to the fact that Harry's shoe was still stuck to his broom. Harry spun too and in a whirl of feet and twigs and surprised yelps, they plummeted and hit the ground --thankfully not more than fifteen feet away-- in a heap near the tree line.

"Ow, Fuck." Harry blinked and realized that Draco was sprawled over him, his broom pressed between them uncomfortably and likely to leave an interesting handle mark squarely in the middle of Harry's chest. Still, the majority of Draco's body was stretched along the length of Harry's and he was forced to take a deep breath and swallow hard before he spoke, willing to explain it away by the fact that it had been ages since anyone had stretched out over him like that and he was eighteen years old. Not entirely happy with that answer, he shoved at Draco's shoulder half-heartedly, anyway. "Get off me, yeah?"

Groaning, Draco shoved the cap off and rubbed at his head as he pushed himself up onto his knees and one empty hand. Obviously entirely unable to resist, he smirked, the corner of his mouth bloodied, holding the hand clutching the Snitch in front of Harry's face. "I win."

"Damn it." Harry let his head thump back onto the grass with an incredulous laugh. "About fucking time, Malfoy. Get--" 

Draco hadn't moved. In fact, he seemed to be studying Harry with genuine curiosity, even as he wiped the blood away from his lip with the back of his hand. "That doesn't bother you?"

"Well, yeah a little, but I can't very well win _all_ the bloody time. Even wankers like you get lucky sometime." It was Harry's turn to smirk, though he shifted a little uncomfortably as the heat radiating off of the boy above him seemed to seep right into his own skin. "And I'll just call for a rematch, 'cos I know I'll win."

Hanging his head, Draco huffed a laugh. "And you're not lying, either. Bloody Gryffindors." He sat back on his heels and rocked up onto his feet, considering for a moment before offering Harry a hand up. Tentatively, Harry sat up, taking the offered hand and popping to his feet, skin tingling where their palms and fingers met. Rising at half arms-distance from Draco, he found himself staring again, and Draco wasted no time in calling him on it.

"You _do_ think I'm pretty."

"Yeah. No. I-- no."

Draco was grinning, beyond smug now, and Harry wished he could do more than stare and feel stupid and stupidly feel the fact that he was far too close for comfort and he had no control over how inappropriate his body's response mght be. A small, small voice shouted that he did not, in fact want to control it at this very moment, and when he finally answered Draco's unspoken retort, he barely recognized his own voice, low and growly. "Maybe."

Harry leaned further in, but Draco took a step back, maintaining their current distance. "I watched you for months, you know. Severus convinced them to give me the assignment following you to prove my loyalty... and make up for what happened. I saw all of the ridiculous stunts you pulled in your _do-gooding_ and as daft as it all was, you walked away from it alive and mostly in one piece every time... and I realized that you _would_ probably be able to kill the old bastard." Draco licked his lips and made to look away, but his eyes snapped right back to Harry. "The point here is that I'd had enough of being controlled. I wanted control over my own damn life for once. And you... were the best chance I had at getting it. So I fed him bad information more often than good." At that, he did drop his eyes with a huff of unamused laughter. "I've got a rather unattractive scar across my back with your name on it, Potter. For sending them in the wrong direction at Calais."

Harry stared dumbfounded. "I--"

Draco cut him off, obviously trying for his normal, insouciant tone. "God. Shut up for one second, can you? He wouldn't have put up with much more. Was about time for you to get something right. So you've already paid me back. Alright?"

Harry closed the distance between them again not at all surreptitiously and there was no mistaking the fact that this time, the move was entirely welcome. Tentatively, swallowing past the huge lump in his throat, he reached out and slid his hand around the nape of the slightly taller boy's neck, not at all convinced he had an idea whatsoever as to what the hell he was doing, but he did it anyway. His eyes were riveted on the curve of Draco's lower lip, sucking in a hard breath as Draco's pink tongue darted out across it nervously. "This is... psychotic." 

Expression not quite touching his eyes, Draco smirked but made no move to get away. "Pssh. Yeah. That's one word for it."

Trying to catch his eyes, Harry murmured, "Can I?" 

Draco answered only with a wordless nod that wasn't even done before Harry's mouth crashed onto his. Awkward and warm and so excruciatingly _messy_ , they managed to avoid bumping noses and clacking teeth by sheer force of determination and the fact they'd each kissed other people quite enough before. But this... was the kind of kiss that left behind bruised lips and cherry-colored cheeks; the kind no one walked away from without a string of follow up performances or pawing hands and clenched toes and eyes that fluttered shut but still saw stars and the possibility of so _so_ much more with bare skin and hands and teeth and tongues not far behind.

And surely as it had begun and lasted longer than seemed possible, it came to an end with a wet, smacking gasp, Draco's temple pressed to Harry's, his eyes still shut as he fought to catch his breath. "God. Should have done that years ago."

Harry grinned, realizing his free hand had somehow made it to Draco's hip, and that Draco's hands were still gripping his jumper tightly. "Would have made school more interesting, for sure."

A deep voice broke through the ambient sounds surrounding them, as over-bright magical spotlights flared up from several points around the clearing, effectively obscuring those holding the wands. "Department of Magical Law Enforcement! Don't move."

Too late for the warning, Harry spun toward the voice as yet another sounded from the circle surrounding them. The new voice was marginally higher in tone, though darker and shot through with anger, accompanying the point of light currently moving forward. "Draco Malfoy. You are under arrest for suspicion of crimes ranging from being part of a violent criminal organization and a known Death Eater to outright murder and arson and if I forget to list anything in between, no one here will think to put it in their report, and I for one am begging you to give me a reason to curse you into oblivion. Give. Me. A. Reason."

Aurors. Bloody hell. And Harry had been worried about random neighbors.

As the Auror advanced, [Harry unconsciously took a step sideways, putting himself in front of Draco](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v148/corvidae9/20060425hdillus01.jpg), reaching back with one hand to grab a handful of his coat. Draco's grip on his elbow was so tight, his fingers were likely completely drained of color, and Harry tried to project authority and calm... as opposed to panic as he counted at least eight lit wands that he could see. "Lower your wand, please."

He could hear the gathered officers murmuring, the only intelligible bits being 'Potter' and 'it's him'. Still, the forwardmost Auror brandished his wand threateningly. Harry suddenly realized that no one had been stunned or disarmed, and quickly made the connection that they _did_ want him to fight back. 

In fact, he could be wrong, but Harry was fairly certain they hadn't originally come with intent to capture.

Draco murmured, "Potter, don't--" but Harry ignored him, pointedly disregarding both his words and the mixed relief and fear evident in his voice. Ever so slowly, Harry held up a placating hand. 

"Now, just listen. I've got proof that Mr. Malfoy is innocent. I--"

Even now, Harry heard Draco snort at the word 'innocent', but his gaze was trained on the lead Auror's wand as he cut Harry off, growling, "Stand aside, Mr. Potter. If you even _are_ Mr. Potter."

The level of the murmuring among the gathered Aurors rose exponentially as Harry cocked his chin even further with a hard stare and shoved his hair back from the prominent scar on his forehead with his free hand. "You going to be the one to admit to attacking the bleeding Boy Who Lived? And do you really think you could take me if you did?"

Granted, there was a very real chance that he _could_ , given that Harry's wand _was_ still in his pocket. Harry was banking on his name and the hope that this was the one bloody time in his life his reputation would do him some good. 

Still, the Auror looked as if he was considering exactly that until a second flare of light stepped up from the surrounding circle and dimmed a little as it approached, followed immediately by a familiar voice. "Stand down, Auror Jameson." 

Relief washed through Harry as he recognized Kingsley, even as he felt Draco's forehead thump down on his shoulder with a murmured, "Fucking Saint Potter. Of course."

Fighting the mad urge to laugh, Harry conceded only a bit of a tilt to his head until the side of his neck connected with the top of Draco's head, murmuring back, "Not yet. But you owe me so big..."

He still hadn't taken his eyes off of the Auror - Jameson, was it? Jameson. Who still had his wand trained on Harry and Draco, the look on his face confused and a little desperate, "But sir..."

Kingsley turned a hard eye on Harry, though he was still speaking to Jameson. "I said, stand down. We're taking them _both_ in." 

###

> _** BREAKING NEWS SURROUNDING DEFEAT OF DARK LORD - BOY WHO LIED?! **  
>  3 April, 1999 _
> 
> _London_ \- Harry James Potter of Surrey, age 18, known to all as The Boy Who Lived, recently famed yet again for defeating the Dark Lord on 12 March of this year, came forward late last night to admit that there was another person at the scene of the already-famous incident. 
> 
> As yet officially unconfirmed by the Ministry of Magic, sources say that both Veritaserum and repeated application of the latest advances in _Priori Incatatem_ , as well as an in-depth review of the memories of all those involved, reveal that Draco Malfoy (18), formerly sought as a suspected Death Eater, was at the scene where it was previously reported that Potter vanquished the Dark Lord single-handedly. Sources also say that Mr. Malfoy played a crucial role in the Dark Lord's demise, claiming that Mr. Potter would never have triumphed, let alone survived, had Mr. Malfoy not been at the scene.
> 
> "He's always been a hero to _us_ ," said Pansy Parkinson-Nott, former schoolmate of both Mr Malfoy and Mr Potter. "Draco has never shied away from doing his part. Why, as early as fifth year he was involved in law enforcement as part of Headmistress Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad. Potter, on the other hand, has always been a self-centered, rule-breaking gloryhound. I'm not surprised he'd try and take all of the credit."
> 
> Perhaps even more shocking, sources seem to indicate that Mr Potter's testimony was especially rigorously questioned and verified as it appears that he and Mr Malfoy are currently romantically involved. No information is available as to how much of their famed playground rivalry was a publicity stunt on Potter's part, but _The Prophet_ will stay on the story until all of the facts are brought to light.
> 
>  
> 
> \- Potter apologists demand further investigation; apology for tarnishing their hero's 'reputation', page 2  
>  \- Inside Slytherin - bad rap for the true house of heroes? page 3  
>  \- Hero Addiction - the Sad Facts Surrounding Harry Potter's Need to be the Center of Attention - Editorial, page 9  
>  \- Witches everywhere express shock, disbelief and the feeling of 'being lied to' in the wake of revelations surrounding Potter's lifestyle choices - is their collective woe premature? Life section, page 1

###

Scant days later, Harry's unconscious mind once again had its own story to tell.

> _** MALFOY CAUGHT SNOGGING POTTER; GOLDEN BOY FINALLY COMES CLEAN **  
>  6 April, 1999 _
> 
> _South of France_ In a shocking yet entirely welcome turn of events, a relieved Harry J. Potter (18) revealed four nights ago that Draco Malfoy (18) had done the Wizarding World a great service in slapping Potter upside his face and keeping him on task. Once the Ministry was satisfied that Malfoy was indeed not a threat, Potter was allowed to drag him out by way of the the secondary Apparition location, normally reserved for high-ranking state officials, in order to avoid the throng of reporters gathering out front.
> 
> Malfoy returned the favor by dragging him off to a rented bungalow in the South of France for a real holiday of indeterminate length shortly thereafter.
> 
> "Give it a rest, Potter," said Malfoy recently. "If slapping you upside your idiot head is what you need to stay on task, I suppose I can stick around to lend a hand for a while at least." Potter, inexplicably pleased by this comment, had nothing further to add.
> 
> Those seeking to contact either are asked to sod directly off until further notice.
> 
>  
> 
> \- Friends on either side in utter shock; beg for further research into the Imperius Curse, page 3  
>  \- Wizarding World up in arms over Boy Who Lived vs. Lied controversy; Says Boy, "I couldn't care less." - page 4  
>  \- Boy Hero Quite Gay. Get over it. - Life, Page 1  
> 

Apparently mumbling and shifting, Harry quieted as Draco's hand snaked across his bare stomach and tucked around him more firmly, his tousled, blond head pillowed on Harry's shoulder. Smiling in his sleep for once in his life, Harry's arm tightened around Draco's back with a sigh, and the boldface headlines in his mind slipped away into the still darkness of wee hours. 


End file.
